


Starting over

by casecous



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 23:19:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3307016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casecous/pseuds/casecous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment between Amell and Cullen after she arrives at Skyhold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Starting over

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing either character. Cross-posted from my tumblr [[x]](http://casecous.tumblr.com/post/110278282213/cullen-amell-amell-arrives-at-skyhold-his-troops). I hate titles 2k15, the usual. Enjoy!

His troops had been distracted all day with excited murmurings of “the Hero of Ferelden!” and it didn’t help that his mind could not stop replaying the moment she arrived, when after introductions, her eyes carefully met his and everything seemed to stop around them. Until Leliana was pulling heraway and Cullen was left with the choice to either follow with Cassandra and Josephine or return to his duties. Anyway. He dealt with his troops as best he could until he could stand it no longer and dismissed them, retreating to his own quarters.

The entire evening had passed with him listening for the footsteps outside his doors, his heart beating faster as they grew closer, only to be disappointed as they stopped or grew distant again. There had been more than one false alarm until eventually he distracted himself with reports, but, well.

He’s been reading the same paragraph for the last forty minutes, and it’s incredibly frustrating but he refuses to set the report down because then he will only end up pacing around unproductively again, feeling like the walls are too tight.  _Best to at least pretend_ , he thinks, rubbing the bridge of his nose, and starts over at the beginning. ****

Two words in, and three clean knocks rap at his door, ones he shouldn’t have been expecting, but would be lying if he said he hadn’t been. He attempts to call out but his throat constricts and he is unable to follow through, so he clears his throat and tries again. _It might not even be her._  “Enter.”

The door creaks open and he rushes to stand as she crosses the threshold and closes the door behind her.  _Maker, she’s beautiful._ A cloud of cold air follows her into the room. It passes, but her cheeks remain pink.

“Hello,” she decides quietly. “Cu-. Commander.” Infinitely thankful that both words begin the same. Her eyes trail down to the papers crushed in a death grip between his thumb and forefinger and she arches an eyebrow. He only then seems to realize and hastily sets them down.

“Amell,” he responds, sounding like he is the one who just came in from the cold. “I, uh, hope you are finding Skyhold agreeable,” he continues a little more steadily. His hands settle onto the desk, stabilizing him.

“Yes, of course.” She frowns a little as she struggles to find more words to make small-talk. She had no real purpose in coming to his quarters and they cannot discuss years in one night. Or shouldn’t. Her eyes travel around the room slowly to study her surroundings before returning back to his. “Though I haven’t seen half of it. I hear there is a tavern and a garden?”

“Leliana and Josephine kept you busy, I presume,” he smiles, small and quiet, for the first time since she’s entered.

“Ah, yes. And kept remarking on your disappearance.”

 _Ah._  “That’s…odd,” he tries halfheartedly. He had a million excuses prepared, all of them sounding pathetic no matter their truths.

“Isn’t it,” she smiles playfully.

“Amell…”

“I’m only joking, Cullen.” His heart skips a beat at the way she says his name, soft and meaningful, and she only seems to catch herself after the fact, but decides to plow on anyway. She takes a step forward and he swallows. “Working yourself to death as usual, right?”

“They’ve been trying to get me out more often,” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“’Trying’ being the key word? Those poor souls. They must truly care about you,” she lets out a small laugh and he smiles shyly. There is a beat of silence and her voice goes soft again. “You look so strange without Templar armor. I had no idea…“

“I… Yes, it has been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Too long,” she says, softer still he could have imagined it. His insides twist at the warmth in her eyes, half guilty with how he doesn’t deserve it from her.

“The things I said. The things I regret –“ he stumbles.

The flames flicker warm light around her otherwise impassable face and pleasantries passed, he cannot bring to mind any of the words he had rehearsed for when he saw her again. It had been so much easier telling someone else. She takes two more steps forward and he does not move, wishing all at once that the room was both smaller and bigger. He is glad for the desk or he would likely fall onto his face.

“If the world is ending, then it does not matter.”

“I pray it’s not, but there are still things that need saying.”

“Yes,” she concedes. “But not tonight.”

He’s nods, unsure if that makes him relieved or disappointed.

She makes the final few steps toward him until they are only separated by the desk. She’s so, so close that he can see the pulse jump in her throat, can see the freckles lining her nose. And it seems impossible, but he won’t follow that line of thinking, because she is well and truly  _here._  When she reaches out for his hand, he complies immediately under her touch, because how could he do anything but. Their hands lift together only slightly, and his eyes drop to the sight, swallowing unevenly.  _He cannot believe…_  Fingertips press against each other carefully and find consent, fingers slot into place just so, continuously brushing against each other but palms remaining separate as if the contact would tear a hole open in the ground and pull them both under. His skin is on fire and the world buzzes around him.

_He remembers an empty library save for her, remembers taking off his gauntlet, and the shock of touching another person after years of **not**. The unspoken superstition that if their palms didn’t touch they could get away with this. It would end as suddenly as it began, but he could feel the ghosts of her fingers in his for the rest of the week. The wonder in her eyes the first time, the second, and the third, until it became comfort the fourth, fifth, and sixth, and then something he could not name but made his insides itch and words threaten to spill nonetheless on the seventh. Until he lost count and it became necessity._

Her thumb traces along his index finger. His heart thuds uselessly against his ribs and some cruel part of him laughs mockingly at his earlier words with the Inquisitor.  _Youthful infatuation._ As if it was  **ever** only that.

His eyes return to hers and he finds her already watching him. “You have not changed,” he states in equal parts awe and disbelief. But that’s a lie because her eyes hold a number of years more than her own and there are little crinkles in the corner of them when she smiles.

“And you are so different,” she smiles. It’s a half-truth also. Because he’ll always be  _Cullen_ , and she knows him, no matter how large the world may feel at some times. Just because they are no longer  _the Circle Mage and the Templar_ does not mean they are not  _Amell and Cullen._

Their hands separate _. It’s been much too long, anyone could enter by now._  Old habits, she supposes.

She wraps her arms around herself. “I should –“

 _Stay,_ he thinks _. Please stay._

“-get some rest.”

He clears his throat, feeling young and strange in a way he hasn’t felt in years. “Yes.”

She is incredibly tired and she wonders how many times they’ll do this; dance around each other until something clicks into place just in time for one of them to  _leave_  again.

It takes what feels like years to walk her to the door and he vaguely wonders how she had crossed the distance so quickly earlier. She hovers in the doorway uncertainly. “A proposition,” she says quietly and his eyes fall to her lips forming the words. It would be so easy to just lean forward. Lean forward and press his lips to hers. Take her in his arms and whisper the things he should have said but never did.  _When you pick up shattered pieces too quickly, it’s so easy to get cut by the glass._

“Anything,” he murmurs gently.

Her eyes widen in surprise almost imperceptibly but the look is gone in a flash and she continues as if it hadn’t affected her at all. “A drink, tomorrow. Maybe some quiet.”

He thinks of his fingers brushing hers ( _again_ ) as he offers her a mug, thinks of them leaning in close and murmuring things only meant for each other’s ears. He nods, afraid that if he opens his mouth he will reveal how unsteady he is.

“Sleep well, Cullen,” she whispers, brushing her fingertips across his forehead and into his hair, and then disappears across the dark of the battlements.


End file.
